Angel's Rest(15)

Amusement lit his eyes and she could see the subtle lessening of tension in his stance. “Small talk, huh? You don’t know how much I hate small talk.”

“Deal with it, Callahan. The meat needs to sit another …” She checked the mantel clock. “Five minutes. The powder room is beneath the stairs if you want to wash up, and if you’d like a drink before dinner, the piece of furniture against the wall behind you is a bar. I filled the ice bucket earlier, so you’re good to go.”

In the kitchen, Nic gave her hips a happy little wiggle as she stirred the sauce. Okay, so this wasn’t a date. No doubt about that. Nevertheless, she’d managed to upgrade her dinner companion for tonight in a substantial way, and for that she was grateful. Excited, even. She couldn’t have asked for a better distraction on this unhappy anniversary. Gabe Callahan was downright hot. The scruffy, need-a-haircut-and-a-shave look suited him, and a girl could get drunk on those warm whiskey eyes of his.

Distracted by her thoughts and the man in her library, Nic neglected to use her hot pads as she went to pick up her roasting pan. “Yee-ouch!” she cried as the pan clattered back onto the stovetop.

She was shaking her left hand and staring at the venison, grateful she hadn’t dropped their dinner on the floor, when Callahan appeared in the doorway to her kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m an idiot. I almost dropped the roast.”

“You burned yourself,” he surmised as his gaze shifted from her to the pot on the stove. Crossing to the kitchen sink, he twisted the cold water faucet. “C’mere.”

When she moved close, he took her arm by the wrist and studied her hand as he guided it beneath the running water. “You grabbed your pan without a pad? You don’t strike me as the careless sort.”

“I have my moments of ditziness,” she replied.

Ditziness fast becoming dizziness. He’d yet to release her hand, so he stood close enough for her to smell the sandalwood fragrance of his soap. It was all she could do not to sway against him.

Nic had always been a sucker for ruggedly handsome men with well-defined abs, but with the wounded-soul thing he had going on … whoa. My oh my, he trips my trigger.

“It doesn’t appear to be too bad a burn,” he observed.

You’d be surprised. With a husky note to her voice, she murmured, “It’s fine.”

Gabe glanced up and caught her staring at the strong line of his jaw. His gaze locked onto hers, and for a long, smoldering moment time hung suspended. Nic thought he might lower his head and kiss her.

Instead he abruptly released her wrist as if it were the hot roasting-pan handle and quickly backed away.

In that moment he reminded her of a cornered animal desperately searching for escape, and the healer in her responded. This man was hurt, damaged in some fundamental way. She saw it not in those scars upon his body but in the haunted expression in his eyes.

She wanted to make him well again. If he had four legs instead of two, she’d know exactly what to do, but humans weren’t her specialty, and despite his appeal, she felt out of her league where Gabe Callahan was concerned.

Gruffly he asked, “Can I, um, carry something to the table?”

“Sure. Thank you. The breadbasket is there by the coffee maker. I’ll join you in just a few minutes.”

He grabbed the basket in full retreat and kept his distance until Nic invited him to pour the wine as she served the meal. Once they were both seated, she attempted to dispel the lingering tension by lifting her glass in a toast. “To scintillating small talk, Mr. Callahan.”

After a brief pause, Gabe gave a half smile, touched his glass to hers, and said in a droll tone of voice, “Lovely weather we’re having, Dr. Sullivan.”

The exchange set the tone for the meal. His interest in her library led to a discussion about reading preferences and she learned they shared an affinity for popular fiction. They both enjoyed thrillers, though he expressed disdain for spy novels and she didn’t care for graphic violence. They debated favorite authors for a time, then conversation moved to the meal. He paid flattering homage to her cooking skills, both verbally and by taking second helpings. She considered it a minor victory when he asked her a question that she felt went beyond “small talk.”

Nic lifted her wineglass and swirled the ruby liquid as she contemplated her answer. “I chose to return to Eternity Springs because I have a thing for ruby slippers.”

He made the Wizard of Oz connection easily. “There’s no place like home, Dorothy?”